The Blood of Sovereigns
by Teotwaki
Summary: The things that we hold the dearest and the closest are the ones that will slip away first. For the recently christened captain of UNSC Crimson Reign, it is his home. For the group of Spartans assigned to the ship, its each other. Will their struggling be rewarded, or will it all be swept away like ash in the wind?
1. Chapter 1

An expanse that stretched en infini.

Racing further and further into the farthest reaches of what we as living beings can yet grasp as existence.

Space, a canvas of raging stars, crushing black holes, comets darting and racing, asteroids floating about like derelict vessels.

Yet, home to astral bodie, planets. Many, sprawling expanses of rock, mineral, and other such things that shall never hold life within it.

However, some are home to oceans that team with life, dashing and splashing about. Lush forests team, crawl, and squirm with life. If every living thing in it gave off light it would shine brighter than a supernova. Or deserts where hardy flora and fauna have fought for ages and learned to adapt to not only survive, but flourish.

Indeed, these planets that seemingly by miracle, found themselves in the position to foster life on or in them.

Captain Oswald "Oz" Graveheart stood on the observation deck of the orbital construction platform that orbited the one he called home.

Earth.

He had decided young, while working on the rarified individual farms, that he wanted to explore that great expanse above, to walk in the glow of this distant stars.

To adventure forth and bring back the incredible secrets that it hid, to Earth.

To his home.

The UNSC was his greatest chance to achieve this feat. He dreamed of taking command of the mighty vessels, whose ascent was marked with great pillars of clouds, and arrival was heralded by slip space ruptures.

However, as he grew older and stronger and smarter, tension in the universe grew. People who had been born in the light of other stars, no longer felt a kinship to their Mother World, and grew bitter in perceived servitude.

Oz's goals shifted from exploration to peacekeeping. How could humanity bridle the universe if it was bucking against its own share of the yoke, he reasoned to himself.

Unable to convince his mother and father to let him part a year early, he waited until he could choose to sign himself. In tears his mother hugged and kissed him goodbye. His father, eyes glistening, shook his hand and drew him close. As he hugged his father back, it further cemented his desire to do right by this home.

For years he served under the command of others, earning regard, and medals, and respect. Known by all of his peers as a true brother in arms. His commanders saw him as an example, an officer in good standing. The men under his command, regarded him with respect and admiration.

His goal was never accolades or personal glory, yet these came to him regardless. All he wanted was to find peace and finally be able to explore with his own ship and crew.

There was no peace to be found here, but a ship and crew were his to set out and bring it here.

Oz turned his head to watch as the UNSC Stalwart Class frigate "Crimson Reign" as it was being prepped for its maiden voyage. The youngest officer to ever to be in command of a vessel of this caliber. It was time for him to join it and oversee its final preparations.

He began walking towards the hangar that held the Pelican that would carry him to the ship.

His ship, he reminded himself once more.

His ship. His crew. His mission. His responsibility.

Should he fail, his mistake.

But if he succeeded, the reward would be everyones' to reap.

A yellow line, marked with the word "Hangar" marked his path. He just kept following that line until he found it. Once in the hangar he found the coordinating officer and requested a shuttle to take him over.

The officer began tapping and perusing a hand held screen, "Actually sir, you have a pelican from the Crimson Reign here to take you aboard. Dock number four."

He gestured towards Oz's left and then came to attention and gave a salute.

"God speed, sir." The Officer wished him, his face stern.

Oz returned the salute and thanked him.

He strode towards the dock, excitement in his strides. But as he neared the dock he composed himself and calmly walked around the corner.

A voice shouted out,"Group! Attention!"

Three men stood before him, arms at their sides, feet together, and heads forward..

A man in an officers dress uniform addressed him with a salute, and spoke with a thick accent.

"Commander Maciej Napeirlski, reporting in sir!"

Oz returned the salute and looked to the next person, decked in flight rig. He was a tall individual with olive toned skin and black hair that was just out of regulation enough that you could counsel him for it. But it was close enough that it made the process seem superfluous.

"Wing Commander, Lt. Le Phong, reporting in sir!" A crisp salute and clear voice betrayed the initial lackadaisical image he had put forth.

Oz once again returned the salute and turned to the final member.

A hardy man wearing marine combat armor stood tall, an interesting achievement since he was a full head shorter than the other three in the room.

"Staff Sergeant Tyler Ramm, reporting in sir!" His voice was strong, just as his demeanor and salute were.

Oz returned the salute and ordered them at ease.

His eyes went from man to man. These would be his cohorts. His advisors. His brothers in arms for the foreseeable future.

He wasn't sure how much work was going to be needed to turn these commanders and their divisions into a single fighting force, but Oz's confidence did not waver.

He gave them a closed smile and then addressed them.

"Gentlemen, it is an honor. However, I will not waste your time with longwinded speeches. We have work to do, and a great many depending on us. Lets move." He spoke firmly, encouragingly. He began walking towards the Pelican and motioned for them to follow.

Their flight was short, but during which Oz began working on understanding the individuals among them. He found that they had all worked or trained with one another to an extent already, no matter how big the UNSC was it always seemed to be just small enough to know almost everyone.

He was the only one on the out. Until he earned their faith and good confidence, too direct an approach too soon could breed resentment.

In addition, if he allowed them to operate with a semblance of free reign it would allow him to see their uninhibited capabilities and weaknesses.

They landed and the ramp to the pelican descended. A contingent of ODST's and Marines stood, saluting with their weapons.

Together they marched towards the helm. Marines, pilots, and crew would stop to salute as he passed and he would stop to ask their name and where they were from. Why they fought.

He got responses that spanned Earth, the inner colonies, and even a few who came from the outer colonies.

Some joined to be a part of something. Some joined to get away from something, though they didn't say that directly. They hid it behind a poorly veiled excuse, but Oz didn't think less of them. When the world started to push them away, they ran away but still protect it from afar.

It was admirable even.

The majority however fought for things they loved. Family, friends, children, wives, husbands, Earth.

Home.

Oz listened to them all. Smiling the whole time. He would send them away with a word of assurance and onto the next.

So many soldiers. So many people. So many lives in his hands.

Napierlski, Phong, and Ramm all diverged at separate points along the path to inspect their respective responsibilities.

Eventually, he reached the helm. His staff there rose for his presence but he quickly ordered them back to their stations. There were too many preparations to finish for him to waste their time. Besides, all the speaking with others had drained him of his patience for the spotlight.

A large command table sat in the center of the room. Ringed around it were the different terminals that displayed data from in an around the ship. Everything hummed with life, not loud but very much alive.

He walked to the table and delicately placed his hand on its still, black surface. As soon as his hand made contact it blazed to life. A holographic map of the Crimson Reign orbiting Earth, nestled within the mother fleet.

He felt his commander's interface implant at the base of his neck begin to synch with the system. He could do more than see the ships on the panel and out the window. He had been briefed on what to expect and how to interface, but it was nothing compared to what he felt now.

He could feel it all. The ship becoming an extension of himself. He closed his eyes and just focused on the feeling. He felt he could reach out for forever. He saw the moon, the frigates, the smaller craft as they darted about like birds in flight. The orbital defense platforms like a bastion on a mountain. He felt all of Earth, as if it sat in his palms. It seemed to be a living contradiction. So small and brittle, yet defiant.

He became aware of another thing as the sea of new sensations swept over him.

He wasn't the only one.

He tried to search for the presence, but he felt sluggish when he tried narrowing it down.

A few moments of what could be compared to swimming in a river with only your arms, he found it. It was right next to him. The real him.

"Hello there, captain!" A chipper, female voice called out, startling him, as soon as he had spotted it.

He opened his eyes and saw the digital avatar of the shipboard AI waving at him.

She was tinted a color of purple that reminded Oz of the fields of lavender that he had seen growing on Earth. Her hair was so long that it fell to her thighs, but instead of falling straight down, it floated and curled as if it were not held by gravity. She was dressed in what appeared to the the second skin that Spartans wore beneath their armor, form fitting but protective.

Oz was taken aback by her, not having expected something so….well, he wasn't even sure how he would describe the AI.

"Awesome." The AI stated matter of factly.

Oz was once again shocked, but much more so this time. Had she heard his thoughts?

"Yes, yes I did." The AI said, cocking her head to the side."Don't worry, active thought reception is only activated for the first few moments of us meeting. Its for me to determine that you are who you say you are. Don't want to accidentally hand over the ship to the wrong person."

"Ah, well, I must say that I don't particularly enjoy knowing you can hear everything I think." Unease creeping into his voice.

"I understand, with your permission I can just sync us and I will get out of your head. It is lovely in here, you do have so many sweet memories." Her voice sweet and innocent.

A moment of terror filled Oz, she was looking at his memories!

"Only kidding! Sorry, couldn't help myself." She laughed.

Oz was immediately unsure of her.

"Oh dont be like that! We are going to be working together for a long time, we gotta have SOME fun." Then she spoke a bit more to herself, "Jeez, I thought only the Spartan AI had to deal with the serious ones."

"Maybe you are funnier when I am not at the brunt end of your jokes, bur for now I will be withholding the word funny from how I describe you." Oz retorted, trying to match her banter.

"Oooh, maybe not as serious as I thought, huh? So be it, beginning sync." She said as she snapped her finger.

Everything Oz had seen before flashed before him, but there was so much more this time. He also saw inside the Crimson Reign. He saw its equipment stores, soldiers, crew, critical systems and their conditions. The surge of knowledge felt like it would overwhelm him. Sweeping his mind away and burying it at the bottom of an ocean of new data and feelings. But then all at once it became peaceful and muted. The last thing his mind was able to snag onto was a list of all the names of those who served aboard the Crimson Reign.

Her name also appeared, he could tell because it was the only name among the throngs that only had the first name.

"Apologies for the discomfort, but I have now muted everything aside from what inputs that I think you are interested in. I will keep tabs on everything behind the scenes and keep you up to date. I will also be providing you assistance whenever you need it in any other tasks related to our mission. I will always just be a call away." Rather proud of herself, she stood proud and looked to Oz expectantly.

"Thank you, Fiona." He said, a smile creeping into his own features. Her good humor, albeit somewhat concerning, was infectious.

Finally feeling like his mind was his own, he walked to the observation window and stared out at the fleet, Earth, and the infinite expanse that stretched beyond.

First he looked with his eyes, and then he looked with his new sight. He could see everything that was under the protection of the UNSC, all the inner colonies, shipping lanes, outer colonies, expedition craft, science outposts. Everything deemed to be of worth.

He took a breath. It was a lot.

But he knew he was not alone to bear the burden.

"Fiona?" He hailed her, they had to get everyone ready to leave. Their campaign began soon.

"Yes, captain?" Her figure on the table perking up.

"Inform Lieutenant Napierlski that I want him to report to the bridge as soon as possible to help me oversee launch procedures. Also, contact Wing Commander Le Phong, I want all his birds checked and on standby to make for the jump. Finally, have SSG Ramm get all his equipment secured and his men into cryo. No sense in wasting their time." He ordered.

"Right away, sir" She replied.

Oz would walk in the light of distant suns, and find the peace that seemed desperate to abandon humanity.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a taste of copper in his mouth.

The dry, sticky sensation of cottonmouth in the back of his throat, only soothed by the trickle of blood that hit his tongue.

His entire body ached. Every vein felt like it flowed with lead.

Spartan Marcus-289.

He stood in the center of the training pit, a hole dug into the ground and a layer of sand at the bottom. A small white ring sat at its center, only 3 feet in diameter. The whole pit was about as big as a sparring ring.

But Marcus's frame commanded the ring.

His chest heaved, a sheen of sweat covered his body. He was covered in cuts, lumps, and forming bruises. His opponents, three other Spartans, looked almost as bad he did.

Two females, and one male.

The pit was filled with heavy air, hot and thick with the four warriors exertion.

A four way battle royale, with Marcus currently residing in the center.

The other male was not as bulky as Marcus, but was by no means a lightweight. His hair was jet black and fashioned into a single column down the middle of his head. He stood stretched out, hands clasped over his head as he was catching his breath. His eyes were piercing, not angry so much as they were analytical.

The two females were built only slightly smaller than the male.

The one to Marcus's left had hair tied up in a tight, plain braid. Her olive skin shone with sweat and small patches on her arms were caked with semi-wet sand. But of all four in the pit, she was breathing the easiest. Her eyes showed a calm serenity, like pools of undisturbed water.

The female to his right had her hair tailored incredibly short, in an almost boyish cut. She rested her hands on her knees and was hunched over, but in her eyes shown a fire that said she was not giving in. She was also caked with sand all over her body, from the numerous failed attacks that she had launched on whoever was at the center of the pit.

Some sweat pooled on Marcus's forehead and rolled into the corner of his eyes, a downside of the military cut he had not holding it in.

He raised his hand to wipe the sweat away.

Thats when they attacked, all at once.

The male approached, arms covering his face. The long hair female strafed around behind him, into his blind spot. The short haired one took a single step and leapt at him.

She approached the fastest. Sailing through the air, arms outstretched.

Marcus clenched his stinging eye closed, and reacted as quickly as possible.

The male was closest, His fist was flying towards Marcus's face. Leaning back he dodged the strike and grabbed the arm, and dragged him through. The combined force caused the male to stumble forward, directly into the leaping females path. The two collided and went tumbling out of the center ring.

Marcus turned to face the long haired female. He was immediately met with a kick to the right side of his face.

She had caught him completely off guard and he began to stumble.

He compensated and let the momentum take him, turning himself back towards the female.

Another kick was sailing towards him, this one he blocked with his forearm. The leg retracted and attacked again, lightning fast, connecting with his chest. He stumbled a step, but immediately went on the offensive. A dotting of quick jabs followed by a left hook. Back stepping, she dodged the jabs. Catching the left hook.

Marcus delivered a lightning fast uppercut, aimed at her midsection. It connected, causing her to hunch over slightly, losing her breath.

He took a single step back to kick her out of the circle, when he was suddenly hit with an immense force on his side. His feet went out from under him, and the feeling of weightlessness filled his senses.

Quickly followed by him crashing outside of the center circle.

The other female had successfully tackled him, landing on top of him so that her head was slightly below his arm.

Barely a second of recovery before the female began to climb his torso, aiming for a full mount and easy access to his face. Marcus tried to punch at her, but her face was tucked and the angle made it difficult to put all his strength into the punch. He only had time to throw one semi-successful elbow before her legs were on either side of his torso.

All he saw before the fists started raining down, was a crazed smile.

She got one.

Two.

Three, good strikes directly to his face before he could bring up his guard. But then they just switched to the sides of his head, scrambling his thoughts.

Each strike made a buzzing in his ears and a painful, swimming feeling in his head.

It took four hits for him to feel her rhythm, then another two to counter.

He grabbed the next strike, reached under her leg with the other hand and flipped her over.

Marcus made a move for control, but instead found his arm about to be captured and him about to be put into submission.

He reached around as best he could and clasped his own hand, straining to keep his arm bent, the right way.

The short haired female arched her back and bucked her hips, trying to break his grip. Her entire body was working against only his arms, he only had seconds.

With a titanic effort, he shifted his legs underneath him and tried to stand.

Arms quivering, gritting his teeth, he got his feet under him and stood with her hanging on his arm. With every ounce of strength, he raised her up a bit and slammed her on the ground, hard. Her grip loosened for a second, giving Marcus an ounce of relief, before immediately resuming her attempts with renewed vigor.

Marcus raised himself again and slammed her down, once again earning himself a moment of slack.

It wasn't working.

Movement to his left caught his eye, the other male and female were fighting. The female was once again on the offensive, a barrage of kicks and strikes but none capable of passing the male's blocks.

Marcus had an idea.

He took off with a loping gait, barely stumbling. He rotated his body away from the run preparing to use female attached to his arm as a club.

Getting close enough he swung her at the other female and they connected. The long haired female was caught completely off guard and went flying, and the short haired one was shocked enough to let her grip go and went flying with the long haired one.

Without missing a beat the two males regained their compute and squared up with one another.

But then they stopped and looked down.

The white, chalk ring that marked the center was scattered. No center ring could be discerned.

There was no reason to fight anymore, so the two straightened and gave a nod to one another..

The session was over.

Marcus walked over the the short haired female, the other male walking to the long haired one.

She was sitting up, one hand rubbing her head and the other reached behind her back.

"God you are such an asshole, using me like a wrecking ball." She growled, her eyes scathing.

Marcus, stifling a smirk, replied, "Well, you were about to break my arm, so i had to think of something to do with you." He reached out a hand to help her up

"Oh no, what you did makes sense. It does not, however, make you any less of an asshole." Taking his hand as rudely as she spoke, she let him do most of the work helping her up.

Spartan Valerie-179. She fights like she lives. But being a Spartan, it may be more accurate that she lives like she fights. She was like an exposed wire that ran hotter than a sun. Some people would say that is a dangerous trait in a Spartan, but she was dedicated and loyal. Even if she wasn't always too gentle.

This was one of those instances.

Marcus began to walk away, but he made only one step before he was suddenly weightless. His feet having been swept out from under him.

He collided heavily with the ground. Wincing, he looked up.

Valerie's mischievous grin beamed back at him, before she left his field of view. Fatigue kept him there as he thought.

She was never one to let anyone have the last laugh.

He tried to rouse himself, his body complaining the entire way, and forcing him to pause at a seated position. He placed his hands on either side of him and was about to haul himself up when the male he was about fight put his open palm in Marcus's face. Gladly clasping hands, Marcus allowed his friend to help him to his feet.

Spartan Tom-225. He was Marcus's rock. Calm under pressure, strategic, and ,as far as Spartans go, friendly. He was a ferocious fighter, and was an incredible leader. He knew everyones' strengths and weaknesses, and was critical in turning this group of Spartans into a team. Marcus had never had a family, or relatives, but he figured that Tom was the closest thing to a brother that he would ever know.

Marcus shook the sand from his pants, and tried to wipe the sand that clung to his skin. Without much success. He gave up, opting to save it for the showers.

He looked up and immediately locked eyes with the final member of his team.

Vera-762. Marcus thought she was impressive. Her fighting skills nearly matched his own. Her marksmanship skills were nothing short of incredible. However, she was rather quiet, Tom described her as being "reserved." However, much of that was only in calmer instances. She became much more open and carefree when she was actively engaged. He remembered how the most open she had been with him was shortly after a firefight with a group of insurrectionists.

Even now, everyone having pushed themselves to the limit, she remained poised. The only indicator that she had even exerted herself was the way her chest continued to rise and fall. She had let her hair loose, it should have fallen to almost the small of her back. But having been kept up during the exercise, it messily fell to just below her shoulders.

Marcus felt his eyes had lingered a little too long for what he deemed acceptable, and refocused on her eyes.

Eyes that were staring cooly at him. Had she caught him?

No, she was probably just angry at him for hitting her with Val. He reasoned to himself.

He began a slow march over to her. It was only training, no one meant to hurt anyone here. Apologies weren't exactly required, but he still felt he should ask if she was uninjured.

"Vera, are you alright?" Marcus asked, trying to sound interested and not concerned.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you alright? You seemed dazed a moment ago, you aren't going to pass out are you?" She inquired.

Damn, she had noticed.

His words stumbled out as he tried to find an answer that wasn't, i was just staring at you.

"Oh, well I… I just felt a head rush." Marcus blurted, hoping this excuse would save him.

"Hm, Val did catch you off guard. I doubt its anything serious, but if it happens again you should have it checked. Who knows what kind of trouble you could get in if you were distracted again." Vera lectured. But as she said this the corners of her mouth made a barely noticeable turn upwards.

Like the ghost of a smile.

Was she messing with him?

Before he had a chance to think further or ask a question, she had turned and walked away. Marcus counted it lucky since she hadn't seemed to upset about the whole Valerie ramming.

"Hopefully, its only Val who is looking for revenge." He muttered to himself.

A voice rang in his ear, like a thousand murmuring voices in a cave, but then suddenly a single voice rang through it all. One with no discernible inflection or gender or ethnicity.

"I doubt Vera has any intentions of getting back at you. However, be assured that she has not forgotten, and should Valerie come up with an innocent means of getting back at you. She will most likely take it." The AI, Legion, stated.

"Has Val made any mentions yet?" Marcus enquired, watching as his three teammates made their way up the side of the pit and towards the barracks.

"None yet, but she will most likely swear me to keep them a secret." Legion, replied.

"You wont tell me if they are planning something? How could you?" Griped Marcus, feigning betrayal.

"I will give her advisements that will limit your bodily harm, i promise. However, I am somewhat conflicted on to what extent those limits will cover, considering you used her like a club." The AI wryly threatened.

"I have a feeling that the consequences for that wont be forgotten for a long time." Marcus groaned, as he climbed up the slope and looked at the world he had known for what seemed like an eternity.

Reach.


End file.
